ripped from the patches of tulips and roses.
Like a bud uprooted before spring,
you suffocate our dreams,
drown our ambitions,
as if nothing beautiful could have come from them.
One-of-a-kind hues and
never experienced or appreciated.
How many missing blooms
leave the garden incomplete,
less vibrant than it was meant to be?
You rob from us
what could have been,
but you cannot penetrate the past.